General For Free
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: It appears Samantha Carter will never learn her lesson when it comes to formal occasions and the problems that are found therein. Sequel to Astrophysicist For Rent
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the sequel to Astrophysicist For Rent, which is in turn the sequel to Colonel For Sale and no, it will not make any sense without reading those, so don't bother trying. If you enjoy humor with a touch of friendship and _slight_ romance (and brother, do I mean SLIGHT), I _promise_ you won't regret reading the others.

I warn you now, this is NOT Sam/Jack; so if you have issues with that fact, hit the back button NOW. I had problems with people whining at me during CFS and AFR, I will **not** put up with it on this. I'm warning you WELL in advance; I will hear no whining from the peanut gallery, capiche?

Okay, now that we've gotten rid of the stragglers, I want to dedicate this to the handful of people who pestered me into writing _another_ sequel. This was _extremely_ hard to start, especially after seeing Sam's arrival on Atlantis and the cringe-worthy "I'm seeing somebody" conversation that came with it, but the masses demanded, the muse provided inspiration, the bunnies bit...and I had no choice but to comply.

-

There was something rotten in the state of Denmark.

Or perhaps it was fairer to say there was something rotten in the state of Colorado.

The semantics, however, mattered little to Samantha Carter. The _point_ was that there was something most definitely _rotten_ going on. Amiss. Out of whack. _Just plain weird_.

And considering the fact we're speaking of a woman who has worked at a top secret military installation for the past ten years or so, the gravity of the situation should be quite clear.

When Sam Carter says there's something weird going on, you know this isn't the _usual_ sort of 'aliens are trying to blow up the planet' weird but something more along the lines of the Twilight Zone grown variety of weird.

You may ask yourself what caused Sam to come to the conclusion that something was amiss in Cheyenne Mountain and her response, though honest, would have made you laugh.

She knew something weird was going on because General O'Neill was _singing to himself_.

If that wasn't a sign of a rapidly approaching cataclysm, she didn't know _what_ was. Jack O'Neill was many things, but he was not a man who _sang_ under any circumstances that didn't involve the words "Ritual" or "The natives will get homicidal if we don't participate".

What's more, it wasn't an isolated incident. If he'd hummed to himself once or twice--with each event a reasonable space of time apart from the other--she could have dismissed it…but this sunny, MGM-Musical style singing under his breath _constantly_ was more than a little suspect.

The fact of the matter was, though Sam didn't know it, General O'Neill was _not_ singing to himself constantly…he just happened to hum a few bars now and then and Sam just _happened_ to be in earshot. The two events seemed to coincide with one another, despite the fact that Jack didn't do it on purpose. It just kept happening that way. To an outside observer, it might have looked like it was intentional on his part, but really, it wasn't. He was just in a good mood a lot lately.

Since Sam _wasn't_ an outside observer and was only able to account for things she saw and heard herself, she came to a conclusion, based on the facts she was aware of.

And that conclusion was that General O'Neill was _always_ singing to himself.

It went on for months, Jack completely unaware of the fact he was driving his friend and former teammate around the bend every time he came to Cheyenne and Sam growing increasing annoyed by his inhuman sunny disposition.

What did _he_ have to be so happy about, anyway? _She_ was the one who was blissfully happy in a friendship turned tentative courtship…_she_ was the one whose career had taken off like a shot…

Sam glared at the back of his head on more than one occasion, barely aware of the underlying reason for her inexplicable jealousy…

Why wasn't _she_ the one who was singing constantly?! It didn't make any sense!

And she'd spent a long time puzzling on it, too.

For the first time in a long time, Sam was happy. _Blissful_ even. Her life was going...well, she wouldn't go so far as to say 'great' but she _could_ say 'much better than usual'...

Her friendship with Rodney McKay--which had been on rocky ground for a long, _long_ time--had turned into a genuine camaraderie and then blossomed over the past six months into a cautious romance; and it held none of the wrongness that her relationship with Pete had…there were no warning bells going off, no uncertainty, they simply slid into an easy routine.

Everything between them stayed the same--except now their banter was flirtatiously charged on _both_ ends and they said 'goodbye' with a kiss rather than a handshake--and though they'd yet to spend any 'quality time' together (at least, that's what _Rodney_ referred to it as), she thought things were going exceedingly well, considering the fact they were in different galaxies…

So, she pondered the question again: why wasn't _she_ the one who was singing constantly?!

Her answer came in a most unexpected form, early one morning after she had arrived on base and was on her way towards the mess hall for a cup of coffee.

Daniel had scampered up to her as she walked, a heavy butter cream colored envelope in hand.

"Morning, Daniel," she greeted pleasantly with her customary friendly half-smile in place, still not stopping her forward progress toward the mess.

"Hi, Sam," he replied, with a note of awkwardness in his voice that was easily identifiable for someone who had worked with him for almost a decade. "I've uh…Jack left this for you."

Sam took the offered envelope and glanced at her walking companion. "He's here?"

"Ah, no. Not right now. He _was_ here, earlier…he dropped this off and asked me to give it to you." Daniel gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Sam slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, still without pausing in her journey toward the smell of coffee wafting from directly ahead. "Any idea what it might be about?"

The awkward tone was back. "Ah, yes...I already opened mine."

Sam quirked a brow at Daniel as she pulled out the sheet of heavy paper inside the envelope. "_You_ got one?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Well, there went any ridiculous notions about it being something of a more _personal_ nature…not that she was entertaining such notions at all…nope. Not one little bit.

Sam looked down at the sheet of paper in her hands and began to read…

_"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Brigadier General Jack--"_

And that was as far as she got before she made quite a spectacular "THUMP" when she rammed face first into the nearest doorway.


	2. Chapter 2

"Follow my finger, Sam."

"I'm _fine_, Daniel," Sam muttered, rubbing her forehead where she'd slammed into the doorway.

With his index finger up in front of her face, Daniel chided, "You ran into a door, I don't consider that to be _fine_."

"I just wasn't looking where I was going, that's _all_," she snapped, slapping his hand away and blinking the stars from the edges of her vision. "A momentary lapse in coordination and suddenly you think I've developed a blind spot."

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest. "Allow me to reiterate, you ran into a _door._"

She bent over to pick up the invitation from where she'd dropped it. "So I ran into a door. Like you've never done it before."

One of Daniel's eyebrows lifted. "You're spending too much time with McKay, you're starting to sound like him."

Sam rolled her eyes and tucked the invitation into her pocket, then resumed her original course towards the mess hall.

Daniel scampered after her and matched her strides. "You should go to the infirmary."

"_Daniel_..."

"You hit your head, Sam, you _should_ go to the infirmary."

Her patience wearing thin, Sam eyed him askance. "Daniel, would _you_ like to go to the infirmary?"

He put his hands up in a show of surrender. "Okay, okay, no infirmary. I won't press."

"Good." She rounded a corner and entered the mess, with Daniel still hot on her heels.

"So, I take it from your reaction, it's safe to say the announcement of Jack's impending nuptials was a…uh…_surprise_?"

Sam contained the urge to smack him upside the head. _Barely_. Really, for a scholar, he was awfully good at pretending to be an idiot.

"I had no idea he was even seeing anyone," Sam remarked, careful to put an air of carelessness in her tone as she sidled into the chow line and picked up a cup of coffee.

"Oh, but you've met her. The woman he took with him to the Inaugural Ball?"

Sam dropped her coffee cup and it shattered on the floor.

Daniel looked down at the mess of broken ceramic and caffeinated beverage on the floor. "Awfully clumsy today, Sam."

She ignored him. "_Her_? He's marrying _her_?"

"Uh, _yeah_."

"But…but it's only been a few months!" She tried to keep her face from going red at the fact that she'd been seeing Rodney (if you called being glorified pen-pals a galaxy apart 'seeing') for that same amount of time and she hadn't even…they hadn't…

Well, they certainly were nowhere _near_ the matrimonial alter, that's for damn certain!

Daniel shrugged. "Apparently, they just…hit it off."

"Hit it off," Sam repeated, collapsing at a nearby table, staring at nothing. "Just…hit it off. Six months. Boom. Marriage."

Daniel sat down next to her, concerned. "Sam? You okay?"

"Fine, Daniel. I'm fine. Just a…little overwhelmed. It seems so…I mean…I don't know what I mean, actually." She fished around in her pocket for the invitation and withdrew it, running her hands over it as if to make absolutely certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was a real thing and not some perverse figment of her imagination. "It's _fast_, I guess."

"Yes, it is…but it's been a long time since Jack had anybody--I mean, anybody besides _us_…"

"Besides us," Sam muttered, the tiny part of her that had once hoped she and Jack O'Neill would become an item dying a slow, painful death and screaming the whole while.

She shook herself, forcefully reminding that complaining part that she had Rodney now…someone who actually _appreciated_ her mind and the acrobatics it was capable of…someone who _listened_ to her scientific prattle.

Someone who didn't so much as _glance_ at another woman when she was in sight…

That thought alone made her lips twist into a smile, all bitterness suddenly forgotten.

She took a deep breath, released it and then looked at Daniel earnestly. "I'm happy for him."

He appeared only somewhat surprised at her sudden one eighty, but he recovered nicely and smiled back at her. "Yeah. I am too."

Sam looked back at the invitation…

And then she saw it and the calm that _had_ settled over her moments before evaporated like water splashed on blacktop on a hot day.

_You are cordially invited…Samantha Carter plus one._

She needed a _date_?

Oh. Hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Contrary to popular belief, a wedding date is not a regular date. Regular dates, you see, can fall into several categories. The getting to know you date. The blind date. The all important third 'kiss or lets be friends talk' date. The possibilities are near limitless.

_But_ there are only _two_ types of wedding dates. Type number one is the 'I really need somebody to go with me' date; with this type, you can bring a friend with whom you have no romantic entanglements. Type number two...

Type number two is the 'coming out' date. This is the date in which you bring someone you've been seeing for awhile to a large function in order to let your circle of friends know you're _serious_ about said person...

Sitting on her couch in her apartment, staring at the wedding invitation in her hands, Sam Carter found herself between the proverbial rock and the hard place. She _could_ ask a friend to go with her…

But that would possibly put her relationship with Rodney on shaky ground. He was…_sensitive_. Perhaps overly so…and she knew that something like that would be a terrible blow to his ego; for though he seemed all bluster and snark, he was really very insecure under all those layers of bully.

Of course, she could also ask _him_ to escort her…in true McKay fashion, he'd managed to find a way to be on Earth _right_ when she found herself in need of him…

But _that_ would mean arriving on his arm for the second time in public at a large soirée.

Once could be written off as friends going out together…

Twice made you an 'item'.

Sam wasn't sure she wanted to be an 'item' yet. Anything that required quotes around it was a big step. She liked Rodney well enough…yeah, sure, she was even kinda starting to think he _might_ turn out to be less of a 'casual boyfriend' and more of a 'the one'--given enough _time--_but this invitation forced her into a decision long before she was ready for it.

She couldn't _avoid_ going to the wedding of Jack O'Neill. They'd been friends and colleagues far too long for her to just skip out on him so, here she sat, turning the invitation over and over in her hands and glancing up at the telephone every few minutes.

Rodney was on earth. _She_ was on earth.

Wait, wasn't that the excuse she'd used _last_ time she needed a date? Huh. This was getting to be somewhat of a habit.

Sam didn't get much chance to ruminate on the fact that fate kept tossing her and Rodney directly in each other's paths, because the phone rang, trying to shake itself off the hook, startling her out of her reverie.

She reached over and snapped it up without even bothering with the caller ID. "Hello?"

Silence on the other end.

"_Hello_?"

A distinctly Rodney-esque clearing of the throat came from the other end. "Ah…Sam? I was just…ahum…"

One of Sam's eyebrows lifted. "What's the matter, Rodney?"

"I was rather expecting to get your voicemail, is all," was his reply. He cleared his throat again. "But ah…since you're home, I guess I'll talk directly _to_ you."

"That is traditionally what telephones are _for_, Rodney. They were designed--"

"Yes, well, don't get me started on the lack of forethought on Bell's part when it came to the design of the telephone--"

"Rodney…"

"Yes, right, sorry. Ahem." She could practically _hear_ him tugging at his collar. "So I'm uh…on Earth, you know."

She smiled. "I should hope so, otherwise you're racking up one hell of a long distance bill."

"Clever, Sam, very clever. Very droll." She pictured him rolling his eyes. "But I _did_ call for a reason--other than engaging in such sparkling banter with you…"

Sam glanced down at the invitation in her lap. "Oh. Well, I was actually about to call _you_ about something; but you go ahead Rodney. It's not important."

"Er…well, it's the damnedest thing," he said in that tone that indicated he was scratching his head over the whole matter, "I got home and checked my mail…and there's an...um…an invitation? An invitation to General O'Neill's _wedding_? And I'm kinda…I'm kinda at a loss, you know?"

Sam ran her fingers over the edge of the invitation, listening. "Yeah."

"I'm not his _friend_ per se--I mean, unless you count the what, three times I've had extended contact with the man a 'friendship'--and I uh…well, I can't turn down a wedding invitation without seeming _rude_...and since he's a man in power nowadays, that'd be a bad move on my part, right?"

"Right," she replied automatically.

"But the thing of it is…the invitation says 'plus one'." Rodney cleared his throat again, sounding somewhat awkward. "And…uh…well, I mean, Teyla, John _and_ Elizabeth all came back to Earth this time around--so I _could_ take one of them--"

Sam teased him. "You'd consider taking Colonel Sheppard with you? How progressive, Rodney."

"That isn't what I meant and you know it! I'm just saying…there's people I could take as friends…but uh…I wanted to ask you instead. I--you don't have to, if you don't want to, I know we haven't been seeing each other very long and you probably got an invitation _way_ before I did and already _have_ a plus one, but I uh…I can't think of anybody I'd rather have as _my_ plus one and--"

Sam's face split in a fond grin. "Yes, Rodney."

"Like I said, you don't have to if--what? What? Yes? You'll…? With me? In public? I mean, of course in public, we've _been_ in public but uh…with all your friends and everything? At a _wedding_?"

"Yes, Rodney."

"Oh…well, that was easier than I expected. I thought you'd already have somebody…but apparently you've been waiting around for me, huh?" Something lecherous and altogether unwholesome crept into his tone. "So…now that the formalities are out of the way…what're you wear--"

"Don't go there, Rodney."

"_I was kidding._"

She continued smiling, despite herself. "Sure you were."

"Besides, it's not like we aren't dating…so, hypothetically, if I _weren't_ kidding, would you tell--"

"_Rodney_…"

"Right. Yes. Okay. Hanging up now. "


	4. Chapter 4

_All 'upper class' retailers must be shot._

Sam fought her way through another rack of formal dresses, grumbling and pondering the soon-to-be epic demise of several brand names.

_No, tortured and __**then**__ shot! Drawn, quartered, flayed, boiled in oil and shot! By a firing squad! Repeatedly!_

As if she hadn't learned her lesson once already, Sam was back at the very same formalwear store she'd found herself in before the inauguration ball several months earlier; and, just like the last time, she was having a hell of a time finding anything that screamed "Wear me!" Her sanity was hanging by the slimmest of threads even as she sifted through garish couture and dazzling high fashion and wondered whether or not a straight jacket could be considered proper formalwear if she stuck enough spangles on it. At this rate, that was the only sort of attire she would think fitting, as close to the edge of craziness as shopping was driving her.

It was a small consolation that she didn't have to suffer through this alone--very small, considering her shopping companion was Daniel Jackson. He needed a new tuxedo, since the last time he wore a tux Vala had managed to get something on it (and no, Sam did NOT want to know why Daniel had been wearing a tuxedo in Vala's presence when there was no occasion to call for it--that lent itself to many different disturbing scenarios that Sam just didn't want to contemplate) that no dry cleaner alive could ever hope to identify, much less _clean_.

Of course _his_ shopping had consisted of roughly ten minutes of minimal indecision, picking what color bowtie he wanted and arranging for a fitting with the store's tailor; hers was rapidly turning into her very own special level of hell on Earth.

Daniel, being the wonderful friend he was, didn't say anything against her, even though she'd effectively kept him trapped for close to two hours amongst gaudy sequins and layers of fluffy taffeta, but when hour three rolled around and she still didn't have a dress picked out, she could tell even his nearly inexhaustible patience was getting dangerously thin.

_And_ it probably didn't help matters that the young female clerk kept ogling Daniel from behind and offering to 'assist'--with special emphasis on the 'ass' every time she said the word. Each time this happened, Daniel shot Sam a "this is your fault" look that got dirtier and dirtier with every repetition; but to his credit, he didn't _say_ anything…at least, not until Sam was _finally_ torn between two dress choices and asked for his opinion.

"What do you think, Daniel?" Sam asked, holding up the two offending garments whose only redeeming feature was that they were marginally less awful than the rest of the selections available to her. "The blue or the emerald?"

When he didn't answer right away, she looked up and saw him _glaring_ at her.

He hissed, leaning as far towards her as he could, "She _pinched_ me, Sam!"

She rolled her eyes and waggled the dresses again. "Welcome to _my_ world. Now, blue or emerald?"

"But Sam! She's seventeen if she's a day!"

"Oh, God forbid, you have a woman far too young for you appreciating the merchandise so much she feels up the goods." She gave him a shrewd look. "How terrible for you. Blue or emerald?"

"Red," he said, turning around and snatching a crimson gown that looked more like something Scarlett O'Hara would wear, not a sensible Air Force Colonel. He waved it around, probably just to be contrary while simultaneously moving his posterior out of anyone's grabbing reach by keeping his back to the rack of dresses he'd just grabbed the red one from.

"Daniel," she said warningly, eyeing the dress, "that thing is gauche at _best_, cathouse worthy at worst!"

"It's not that bad," he said defensively, one foot tapping without his notice. "It's got a tasteful neckline, etcetera, etcetera. The color is just a little daring, is all."

"Red at a wedding is still in bad taste, _and_," She looked at him. "I'm going with _McKay._"

Daniel's jaw clenched momentarily and he shoved the dress back on the rack sourly. "You didn't tell me _that_."

She glanced at him. "Who did you _think_ I was going to go with? Siler? T'ealc? _Mitchell_?"

He shrugged, some of the irritability draining from his frame as he did so. "I don't _know_, you've been so secretive about who you invited to go with you--"

Sam cut him off. "He invited _me_."

The archeologist blinked in confusion. "_He_ invited you…but that'd mean he received an invitation. Jack doesn't even like McKay!"

"Apparently, he likes him enough to send him an invitation. Trust me, it baffled me too; _and_ McKay." Sam presented her dress options again. "Blue or emerald?"

"That's forest green if it's anything," Daniel said distractedly. "You don't think Jack knows about you and McKay, do you?"

"Of course he does, he saw me with him at the inauguration ball. Why wouldn't he--" Sam's eyes got wide as realization dawned bright and glaring. "That…oh that…that…incorrigible man!"

"What?"

Sam shook her fist, the effect lessened by the fact that her hands were full of flouncy fabric.

"He's trying to force me into 'coming out' with McKay at a public function!" She said furiously.

Daniel seamlessly slid into the rational friend role. "Don't jump to any conclusions, Sam. Jack wouldn't do anything that…juvenile."

"Oh, he wouldn't, huh?" Sam tipped her head at her friend, eyes narrowed. "Two words for you, Daniel: bachelorette auction."

Daniel brought his hands up in a gesture that clearly said 'surrender'. "Alright, I admit _that_ was juvenile--but this is his wedding…if he invited McKay with any kind of ulterior motive, I'm certain it was only with your happiness in mind."

She glared at him. "Good intentions, road to hell; ringing any bells, Daniel?"

"Sam…"

"I don't _care_ how good his intentions may have been or what he had in mind, I don't like being manipulated either way!" Her mind suddenly snapped into 'made up' mode and she shoved the dresses she was holding at Daniel, stalking past him and grabbing an even _more_ daring red crushed velvet dress. Modest enough to keep herself from being embarrassed over it later, but spectacular enough to still cause a sensation amongst all the heterosexual males that attended the reception…and _more_ than enough to give McKay a minor stroke. "Come on, Daniel, we're leaving."

With determination not to lose her nerve about what she was about to do, Sam stalked down the aisle of dresses and didn't even pause at the yelp that came from behind her.

"OW! Sam, she did it again!"

Without looking back, Sam tossed back at him, "Suffer!"


	5. Chapter 5

The carpeting in Samantha Carter's apartment was rapidly having a track worn in it as the owner of said apartment paced back and forth, chewing her thumbnail. The Dress (it was such an entity unto itself, it deserves capitalization) hung over the back of a dining room chair, draped rather attractively, and every few seconds, Sam would pause her pacing just long enough to look up at it.

Her opinion of the dress flip-flopped with every look she took. One moment, she was wondering what the _hell_ she had been thinking; the next, she was trying to console herself with 'It's not _that_ bad' and the moment after that, she was back to thinking she must have completely taken leave of her senses to have even _considered_ such garb to be anywhere _near_ appropriate.

The cut of the Dress was attractive enough, and, in truth, it didn't show _too_ much--if it had been in a more muted color, like a dark blue or green, she might have felt differently about it--but the _color_ made a relatively innocuous dress look all the more daring. Sure, the neckline was a few centimeters lower than she might have chosen under ordinary sane circumstances and the hem a few centimeters too _high_, but it was the silky, shiny red fabric that **demanded** attention. There was no way she was going to be able to walk into a room without every eye in the place sticking to her and _staying_ that way.

The clock on her mantle chimed the hour, reminding her that the wedding was rapidly approaching and that Rodney would be arriving to pick her up in a very short space of time.

She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the horrid whorehouse red fabric, brow wrinkled in distress.

Oh, was she ever in trouble.

Where was a Fairy Godmother with excellent taste when a girl needed one?

She'd had weeks to get used to the idea of the Dress, but she'd been so irritated with the whole messy business that she'd just stuffed it in a garment bag and hadn't looked at it until zero hour, in case she lost her nerve.

As predicted, she was quickly beginning to lose her nerve.

That didn't make any sense, given just what sorts of things she'd been up against throughout her lifetime--she was an Air Force Colonel, she'd saved the planet on numerous occasions; she was **not** going to let a Dress defeat her!

How could it do that?! After everything she'd done?!

Well, that was an easy enough question to answer, if she were being honest with herself…

She could outthink any enemy in the galaxy; she could run mental circles around any astrophysicist she met; she could handle guns and explosives with _ease_…

This being a girl thing, though--or at least, being what society dictated _made_ a girl--_that_ was befuddling. She'd never had to really deal with it before. Her feminine side was repressed and her brains given the majority of her attention. Sure, she knew enough to keep herself from being mistaken for a man and she knew a bit about using feminine wiles to get what she wanted in a _tactical_ situation, but in a day-to-day situation, this sort of stereotypical 'girl' thing just didn't come up!

Sam growled low in her throat. Damn it, she was not going to let the Dress **win**!

Never mind that it would cause a sensation…

Never mind that Rodney would likely drop over from a heart attack the moment he saw her…

Never mind the fact that…

RING, RING.

Sam squeezed her eyes shut and took a steadying breath before stalking over to her telephone and picking up the receiver.

"Hello?" she snapped, her voice coming out brittle and not the least bit welcoming.

Silence greeted her on the other end of the line.

Her eyes narrowed and she was about to bark angrily at the silent caller for disturbing her in the middle of a minor crisis that she had no idea how to deal with when the other party cleared their throat somewhat nervously.

"Sam?"

She breathed in deeply through her nostrils, counting silently. Rodney didn't deserve to be the focus of her wrath, her current predicament was nobody's doing but her own and she was just going to have to deal.

When she reached the count of ten, she exhaled and made an effort to keep her tone neutral.

"Yes, Rodney?"

"Um," he sounded more than a little unsure of himself, "you okay?"

Her left eye twitched, but her voice didn't give away her frustration. "Fine, Rodney. I'm _fine_."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I was fine, Rodney," she ground her teeth together, "that means I'm _fine_, Rodney."

"Well, in that case, I've been standing outside your apartment door knocking for the past five minutes…"

Her head snapped to one side and she stared at the door. "You have not."

He sighed heavily. "Maybe you couldn't hear me over all that stomping around you're doing. Really, Sam, now is not the time to be moving furniture."

She 'stomped' over to the door and flung it open to find an immaculately groomed Rodney McKay in a well tailored tuxedo standing there with his cell phone glued to his ear.

She gaped at him, mouth hanging wide like a fish. "You're early."

He leveled his eyes at her. "You're still talking to me on the phone."

Sam glared at him and tore the phone from her ear. "You're _early_, Rodney, I'm not even dressed yet!"

"I am not early. You said twelve o'clock sharp, it is now--" he made a great show of jerking his wristwatch into her field of view, "twelve-oh-five."

She grabbed his arm and stared at his watch. "That…no, that _can't_ be right." She turned around and looked at the clock on her mantle, which proclaimed it to be nine thirty.

The clock on the mantle which _continued_ to proclaim it was nine thirty…and forty eight seconds.

Sam stared at it for another ten seconds and was horrified to discover that the second hand wasn't moving. It twitched in a half hearted _attempt_ to move from the forty eight second mark to the forty ninth, but it failed.

She swore under her breath, dropped Rodney's arm and rushed towards the Dress, scooping it and her matching shoes up in her arms--all qualms about whether or not it was in good, bad or _horrible_ taste forgotten--and making a mad dash for the bathroom to change.

"Twenty minutes, Rodney! Give me twenty minutes to get into this thing!"

She was about to slam the door when he called, "Want any help?"

He didn't even see the high heel until it was already sailing towards his head.


	6. Chapter 6

-runs across the page waving a banner that says "SORRY! SORRY! SORRY!" on it in bold lettering-

It's too hard to explain in depth what's been going on with me lately that kept me from writing. Fanboys, moving, identity theft, working on getting a comic book published...it's a _long_ list of one disaster after another. But I'm back now and I hope to stay that way for a good long time. Forgive me? Review me? Lurve me? -puppy eyes- Come on, how can you say no to this face? o.o Besides, it's not like I haven't written a bazzillion _other_ stories in the Stargate 'verse if you're _bored_ waiting for the next installment of this...-HINT-

--

Rodney McKay was glaring holes in Samantha Carter's face, she could feel it as she shifted his car into park in front of Saint James' Chapel. It was like a heat lamp hitting her cheek even as she kept her eyes determinedly on the road.

It was quite a testament to just how angry he must have been that he kept up the strength of one of his best withering glares with only one good eye at his disposal.

She turned the key in the ignition and the engine cut out as she turned to him wearing the same contrite expression she'd been wearing since she came out of her bathroom to find him with an icepack pressed to a decidedly high heel shaped black eye.

"I'm sorry, Rodney."

"You hit me with a shoe," he replied, still glaring with one eye. "You _hit me with a __**shoe**__._"

"It was an accident!"

"Accident? _Accident_? Did that pump suddenly grow wings and _fly_ from your hand of its own volition? I have seen some weird things since I got involved with the SGC, but a sentient attack shoe isn't one of them!"

Sam tried to stifle her giggle. She _really_ did.

"She laughs!" he said accusingly, jabbing a finger at her. "I could've been blinded for life and she _laughs_!"

Sam smiled at him indulgently, still snickering, leaned over and pressed her lips to his in silent, affectionate apology, hoping that he would ignore the way her shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter every few moments.

She pulled back and was pleased to see the dreamy, far off look on his face, upper lip twisted ever so slightly into a smile and eyes still closed.

He snapped out of it and glared at her again. "That wasn't fair! Foul! Foul! I demand a referee--mmph!"

She kissed him again, this time without giggling and leaving no room for him to even _think_ of protesting once she pulled back once more. The dreamy look lasted even _after_ he opened his eyes--albeit somewhat blearily.

"I really _am_ sorry, Rodney," she said genuinely, patting him on the hand and twisting in her seat to reach for the door handle. "Come on, we're already late."

Rodney harrumphed from behind her as she climbed out of the car as gracefully as possible. "I _still _say that wasn't a fair way to end an argument. Not fair in the least. Bad form!"

He caught up with her and offered her his arm, which she took with a quirked eyebrow. "Rodney, all's fair in love and war."

"When do you think you'll come to a decision about which one this is? I'd like to know if I should invest in some protective headgear."

Her laughter lasted all the way across the parking lot and into the chapel.


	7. Chapter 7

When one finds oneself walking into the middle of what is supposed to be an in-progress wedding without a bride, one begins to get suspicious that all isn't well. In fact, one comes to the conclusion that the groom has been left at the altar.

When one is Samantha Carter, on the other hand, one finds out that the whole Jack O'Neill wedding thing was an elaborate ruse on behalf of one's friends so that one's boyfriend may propose marriage.

It had taken her a minute or two to realize that the group of people inside the chapel were only those that she or Rodney knew and that they were dressed a great deal more casually than she. It took her a few seconds longer than _that_ to realize that--not only was there no wedding in progress--there was no priest, no organ player, no _nothing_. Just a lot of people inexplicably milling about inside a church.

At first, she'd turned to Rodney with confusion, but the look on his face--one that a cat that recently deprived a cage of its canary might wear--told her that he was in on it...whatever it was. The second they had entered, the place had gone quiet and she narrowed her eyes at her escort.

"Rodney," she said, her voice as low and menacingly close to a growl as she could manage. "What's going on?"

He beamed at her brightly, eyes alight as he dropped to one knee far too smoothly while retrieving a little box from one of his pockets and offering it to her. He opened it with an audible creak of the hinges and she stared at the diamond solitaire that was glaring up at her from within the black velvet. Everyone in the immediate vicinity--friends, co-workers, human, alien, military men and civilians alike--all looked at her expectantly. She could _feel_ the weight of their expectations and it made her horribly uncomfortable.

"Samantha Carter," Rodney said in a rush that came out like he'd been holding his breath for the past hour. "Will you marry me?"

She blinked at him for three seconds in complete bafflement before her throat and mouth moved in tandem to create sound without her permission.

"Are you INSANE?" she squawked indignantly.

There was silence.

And more silence.

And _more_ silence...

Until...

"It hasn't been ruled out," Colonel Sheppard stated from somewhere off to her left, though the barb was more than likely intended to ease the sudden tension than to hurt Rodney's feelings...not that they could be bruised any more severely, if the look on his face was any indication. If he'd had a puppy and she had kicked it across a football field, the man could not have looked more pathetic.

Hell, he couldn't have looked more pathetic if he _were_ the imaginary puppy victim of her ire.

And the black eye she'd already inflicted certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Sam?" Rodney said quietly, his voice worried and meek.

She glared at him angrily, one eye twitching just a little and then her eyes slipped shut as she turned away from him, counting under her breath. She took air in through her nose and slowly let it out, trying to regain control of her temper.

Opening her eyes, Sam looked back down at her would-be beau, feeling only slightly less homicidal.

"Rodney? May I speak to you--" she grabbed him by the ear and hauled him up off his knees, "_outside_?"

"Ow, ow owowowowowowow!"

She didn't release him until they were out on the church steps and the door had closed with a noisy SLAM behind them. In the midday sunshine, squinting against the harsh light assaulted her eyes, she looked at Rodney as though she wanted nothing more in the world than to set him aflame.

"What were you _thinking_?" she exclaimed, motioning with her hands a bit more expressively than was absolutely necessary.

"That I would ask you to be my wife?" The look on his face and his tone of voice were such that she was forcibly reminded of a child brought before a particularly strict and foreboding teacher, so unsure of the correct answer to her question that he tried to make his reply sound like a query of his own.

She felt her eyes bug considerably and she pursed her lips into a grim line so hard that they turned white. "_Rodney_…"

The scolding note to her tone wasn't lost on the physicist and he noticeably _winced_.

"You _faked a wedding_?" she asked rhetorically. "You faked a wedding and decided to ask me to marry you _in front of everyone_? What were you thinking?!"

"Well! You blow hot and cold all the time!" he defended, "I wanted to make sure you wouldn't maim me when I asked you!"

"Maiming. Maiming is an excellent idea!" she exclaimed. "Did you really think that would _save_ you? That asking me in front of friends and colleagues you wouldn't make me angry?"

"Well I thought--"

"Rodney! How could you humiliate me like this?"

"I didn't mea--"

"We aren't even--we haven't--Rodney, _marriage_? Have you lost your senses completely?"

"Probably," he snapped. "But I don't _care_ if we haven't slept--"

"Marriage, Rodney! I can't believe you'd ask me to--"

"Of COURSE I would ask you to!" he shouted in her face. "_I love you!_"

She froze in mid-tirade and stared at him. It was like she'd had ice water dumped down the back of her ridiculous dress and couldn't move as a result of slipping into cold-related shock.

"You…what?"

He took a step back, realizing that through the course of their argument, they'd gotten nearly nose to nose as they screamed at each other.

He cleared his throat and said meeky, "I...love you."

Stunned, all Sam could manage was, "Really?"

"_Yes_, really."

"Even though we haven't--"

"_Sam_," he said warningly, "do you really think so little of me? Do you think that I couldn't love someone enough to marry them without taking them for a test drive first?"

Her hand slapped his shoulder before she could control the impulse. "Don't talk about me like I'm a Ferrari! This is serious, McKay."

"Yeah, it is. You still haven't answered my question. That's pretty damn vital."

"Rodney, you can't just spring this sort of thing on me--and my God, what were you thinking, staging it like _this_? Wasn't there a better way? Moonlight, roses, things like that?"

"Er…it was…um…hrm. Well, originally, that's what I _was_ going to do er…but--" He looked sheepish for a moment. "It was General O'Neil's idea."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm not surprised."

He met her eyes again, a silent apology written in their depths. "Listen, Sam, I'm…I thought…this was the best way. I...okay, so I did want to do moonlight and roses, but then Jack suggested to Daniel that--"

Her eyes narrowed even further. "Daniel was in on this?"

"Er…yes? But…as I was saying, it…just…originally, we were just going to surprise you in the mess hall, but then we couldn't get everyone there we wanted to be and--"

"Why fake a wedding?"

"To…er…soften the blow? Um…to let you get used to the idea of marriage and weddings bouncing around your head without cluing you into the fact I was going to ask you to marry me." His lip quirked up slightly. "It was really brilliant of Elizabeth to say that you needed time to get used to the idea of marriage--"

"Doctor Weir _too_?"

"Well…yes. I needed ad--"

"Just how deep does this conspiracy to get me married to you _go_?"

"Pretty deep," he answered honestly. "We didn't get the president involved, though…Sheppard wanted me to but--wait. We're getting off track. You haven't answered my question."

"What? Rodney, you can't be serious."

"I am. I'm dead serious. I asked you to marry me and I want you to answer me right now."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"No."

"No you aren't going to answer me or no is you answer?"

"No is my answer."

Rodney seemed to deflate and he staggered back, nearly tripping on an uneven piece of ground. "No? You…no? You won't marry me? No? How could--_**NO**_?!"

She stood her ground and folded her arms over her chest. "No."

He sank to the ground and flopped in a heap, knees drawn up close to his chest. He looked so lost when he stared up at her. "Why not? What is it? What's wrong with me? I'll fix it!"

"I didn't mean I'd _never_ marry you," she said with a sigh, "Just…not right now."

Carefully, she slid down to sit next to him, mindful of her dress. "We haven't even talked about marriage, Rodney. We haven't talked about _living together_. You're taking things a bit _fast_."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she barked automatically. "We've only been 'together' for six months--"

"I don't care. I just don't. I've certainly _wanted_ you since the first moment I laid eyes on you and now…I _do_ love you, Sam. I can't think of _ever_ being with anyone else ever again. It doesn't fit in my head…so isn't marriage the logical course of action in this case? I mean, if I'm never going to be able to be with anyone else ever again, shouldn't I be married to the person I'd _like_ to be with?"

She gave him a critical look. "That _was_ maddeningly logical, given the circumstances."

"So you see where I'm coming from then."

"No. I still think you're nuts to have asked me this particular question _like this._"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Most of General O'Neil's _do_, but they rarely actually _are_."

"So…this was all for nothing then?" he asked sadly.

"It managed to spike my blood pressure; if that was one of your mission objectives, I'd say you succeeded in _that_ regard, at least."

"But…I got you an engagement ring and everything."

"Rodney…"

"Well, I did! I hardly think that it should go to waste. I happen to know it'll fit your finger just perfectly, Sam."

"Rodney, no. I'm not going to say yes."

"But--"

"Rodney," she said sternly. "Give it six months. Give me time to get used to the idea of _my_ marriage--not someone else's."

"Wait. Give it six months? So...you're not dumping me for this?"

"As much as I _should_…you had good--if _incredibly stupid_--intentions, and life with you as my significant other has never promised to be anywhere near the realms of normal _or_ sane, so I should've expected something like this."

"Does that translate as a 'no, I'm not dumping you, McKay'?"

"Basically."

"Six months?"

"At least."

"And I'm not dumped, we're still dating?"

"Yes."

"With the intention of eventual possible matrimony?"

"Did you have that question drafted by a lawyer?"

"No."

She lifted one eyebrow.

"Maybe."

Both shot into her hairline.

"I had to be _prepared!"_ he said heatedly. "In case General O'Neil's idea _didn't_ work out, though I had confidence it would, my calculations were obviously horribly, horribly flawed, and--"

"Rodney, you have this habit of talking long after you should shut up."

"I get that a lot."

"That's the second time today you've managed to _not_ surprise me."

"I think the fact I asked you to marry me cancel out the not-surprises, though." He stared straight ahead, hands lying palm down on his kneecaps. "So…this means we start over?"

"Not from square one, but we can _try_ and forget this little incident ever happened."

"You'd do that?"

"Rodney, if you think I wouldn't make a conscious effort to forget it even _without_ the starting over, you're delusional."

"Oh. Okay. Well, then…since you're not mad enough at me to dump me, I guess everything worked out alright. Except for the not saying 'yes' to my proposal, of course. That's still disappointing."

Sam tried not to smile, despite her dismay at the entire situation, but failed. He had a bad habit of making her do that, she noticed…

"So, since you won't marry me and make me the happiest man in the world and I'm leaving Earth again in two days--" he leaned over a little ways and wriggled his eyebrows at her. "Do I at least get to take the Ferrari out for a spin?"

Her glare was half hearted, since she was still smiling a little and she leaned over to peck him on the lips, punctuating her sentence with a series of three kisses. "_You. Are. Incorrigible._"

"Vroom!"

-

A/N: I may or may not have been drunk when I wrote this. I don't care. I _know_ it's not realistic, but then, this series was never intended to be taken seriously and I like the ending...and I'm tired. Oh, and drunk. Very, very drunk. This is what happens when I go stay with friends who are bad influences...and that have alcohol! And cookies. I have cookies! Birthday cookies. Mmm.

I should go to bed.

Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience. I now wash my hands of Carter/McKay shipping until further notice. Please give my other stories a look (and a review, if you want; that makes me happy inside) if you liked this one and its predecessors!


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